Hot Arabian Nights. Marguerite Kaye

I am not sure what to do or how to do it,’ Julia finished on an embarrassed whisper.

      ‘You do not have to—I told you, I take my pleasure from yours, Julia.’

      ‘I know.’ She risked looking at him, and discovered that his eyes were dark with desire. It gave her courage. ‘I want to know if it’s the same,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Whether I can take my pleasure from yours. Will you help me find out?’

      His laugh was deep, throaty and intensely arousing. ‘You are the most surprising woman I have ever met. Has any man ever been asked such an irresistible question?’

      ‘Does that mean you will?’

      He caught her roughly to him, kissing her deeply. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It means that I will. With pleasure. In fact with what I am certain will be mutual pleasure.’

       Chapter Eight

      Julia’s kisses had aroused him beyond belief. Her shy, delightful plea to be permitted to pleasure him stirred Azhar’s blood. Patience, he told himself, but what he really needed was control, and he wasn’t sure how much of that he could muster.

      He left her briefly to prepare the bathing tent. The bath stood ready, as he had ordered, scented with rosewater. The candles set on the low table where the oils and soaps had been set out were quickly lit. Soft drying cloths were laid in a neat stack. At the rear of the tent, the trunk containing Julia’s clothing lay open. In the space at the front, around the bath, were thick rugs, velvet cushions, a table set with her brushes and combs. He had thought only of her comfort when ordering it to be set out like this, but being surrounded by familiar personal possessions would serve equally well to relax her.

      Holding back the tent flap, Azhar beckoned to her, relishing the look of wonder on her face as she took in the unashamedly luxurious tent. ‘If ever I had any doubts that you were a prince,’ she said, her eyes gleaming, ‘they are well and truly dispelled. No mere mortal could conjure such wonders from thin air. It must have taken an army of servants to set the camp up. Where are they?’

      ‘I have made them disappear. I am not a prince, I am a magician,’ Azhar said.

      She laughed. ‘Whichever you are, you have certainly worked your magic. Thank you. This is completely indulgent and wholly unnecessary but...’

      ‘I like to indulge you. Take your time. There is no rush.’

      He turned to go, but Julia called him back. ‘A bath such as this is most soothing after a day spent on a camel,’ she said. ‘You told me so once, and I discovered you were right.’

      She was nervous, but she was also—there was a look in her eyes that made his heart race. ‘I remember,’ Azhar said.

      ‘‘And—and if I remember correctly, you also told me that a massage was of great benefit to tired limbs and bodies.’

      ‘That is true.’

      ‘We have both been on a camel all day. I presume your limbs and body are as tired as mine?’

      She was blushing wildly, but she was looking straight at him. Her courage staggered him, even as her daring made the blood thunder in his ears. ‘Julia, you do not have to...’ He stopped short, realising how easy it would be for her to misinterpret his words. ‘If you are asking me to share your bath with you then I would like that,’ he said. ‘I would like that very, very much.’

      Her smile was his reward, partly relieved, partly nervous, but mostly pleased. It touched him, that smile. He had no doubts of her ability to arouse him—she only had to look at him to do that—but he wanted very much to prove it to her. He wanted her to see how much she aroused him, and by doing so, to be assured of her own potent attraction. The line between encouragement and direction was a fine one, but he was determined to tread it.

      ‘If we are to bathe we must first remove our clothes. All of them,’ he said, slipping off his cloak before unfastening hers.

      Julia hesitated only briefly before pushing her headdress off, unfastening the buttons of his tunic with shaky fingers. He kicked off his boots. She did the same. He unfastened the belt which held his trousers in place. She undid the buttons of her own tunic. He stepped out his trousers. Julia untied the sash at her waist and stepped out of her wide pantaloons. Her breasts rose and fell quickly beneath her tunic, the only item of clothing she still had on. He wanted to tear it from her but forced himself to wait, not wanting to rush her, more importantly not wanting to wrest control from her.

      Her eyes fixed on his, she lifted the tunic over her head and dropped it to the floor. Her arms fluttered up to cover her breasts, but she stilled them, standing proudly naked under his gaze. ‘Julia,’ was all he could manage. His whole body ached with desire. He could not resist touching her. Taking her long braid of hair in his hands, he undid the ribbon and began to untangle it, running his fingers through the fiery river of red, letting it ripple out over her shoulders, down her back, over the creamy mounds of her breasts. Her nipples were dark-pink peaks. The silky curls between her legs were dark auburn. He could count her ribs, she was so slender, and yet the flare of her hips from her narrow waist was delightful.

      ‘Julia,’ he said, touching her carefully, reverently, her arms, her waist, the curve of her bottom and her breasts. His breath was ragged. Hers was shallow. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to sink his shaft deep inside her. But he waited, because that was what she wanted.

      ‘Now you,’ she said.

      He lifted his tunic over his head and dropped it to the floor, horribly conscious of his engorged shaft jutting proudly from his body. He knew women found his body desirable. He had never been self-conscious about his flesh. But he could not recall ever standing like this, flamboyantly aroused, being blatantly examined by a woman he was absolutely certain had never so blatantly examined a man in such a way before. He found himself hoping he pleased her, something he had never before doubted to be true.

      She touched him lightly, mirroring the way he had touched her. Her fingers on his shoulders, fluttering over his chest, his nipples, stopping at his hips. She bit her lip, her eyes on his shaft, and then fluttering up to meet his, the question in them clear. He took her hand, curling it around him, and at the same time kissing her deeply. She kissed him back. Her breasts pressed against his chest, the hard peaks of her nipples a delicious frisson of pressure on his skin.

      Then she broke the kiss, her eyes drawn down again, running her hand experimentally along his length. Azhar shuddered, his eyes closing momentarily. She did it again, the pads of her fingers lightly caressing the sensitive skin at the tip, and Azhar had to bite back a moan, had to clench his fists in an effort to hold on to some element of control.

      ‘You don’t like that?’ Julia said.

      ‘I like it,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘but if we are going to bathe, then you will have to unhand me.’

      Julia smiled, tightening her hand just a fraction around him. ‘I don’t want to unhand you. I’m not ready to bathe yet,’ she said, stroking him this time, all the way up, all the way down.

      His breath expelled in a rush. He had thought he couldn’t get any harder, but he had been wrong.

      ‘Lie down,’ Julia commanded. She gave him a little encouraging shove. ‘Lie down, Azhar,’ she said, this time with a great deal more confidence.

      He lay down on the cushions. Julia dropped to her knees between his legs. Her hair fell over her shoulders, brushing his belly. He shuddered. She gathered a handful of her hair in her hand and brushed it over his chest. ‘Do you like that?’ she asked him.

      ‘Yes.’

      She stroked his nipples with the hair. Satin soft, yet it positively ached. ‘Do you like that, Azhar?’

      ‘Julia,’ he said with a tight smile, remembering her own words, ‘Everything you do pleases me.’

      Her